Stranger than you dreamt it
by MusicalMaryann
Summary: Following the unmasking scene, Christine finds herself unable to simply leave the Phantom after his passionate and heart-breaking revelations. A closer look at a compassionate Christine and a Phantom yearning for a second chance. EC.
1. Objection

**Authors note**: This is my first fanfiction, inspired by watching the movie numerous times and repeatedly finding myself failing to believe Christine would have so easily gotten up and trotted off following the intense look of pity and compassion on her face after Erik poured out his heart to her. I am an avid EC supporter, and I will attempt to keep the mentioning of Raoul to a bare minimum (considering I detest the fop, and even seeing his name makes me squirm. Childish? Yes, but this fic will be tailored to my personal interpretation of the characters we have all grown to love so dearly.) Enjoy! Constructive criticism is most welcome.

* * *

Erik placed the porcelain mask over his scarred cheek and stood rigidly, "Come, we must return. Those two fools who run my theatre will be missing you."

Christine, however, remained on the stone cold floor of the catacombs, gazing at Erik with tear-filled eyes. He was so majestic. Even after the most traumatising of moments he managed to regain his composure and proceed to suggest action that was surely a contradiction to his own will.

Erik quizzically turned when he heard no movement and sighed with a look of concern etched on his face as he bent and outstretched his hand, "Come Christine."

Again, Christine found herself staring into his gleaming green eyes. He held so much passion, so much power. Through his eyes, fragments of his soul laid bare- the heartache of loss and rejection, the fear of loneliness. Seeing her mysterious angel as a man in the flesh uncovered a multitude of her own feelings and led her to further contemplate who this ghostly figure in her life really was.

He had just revealed to her his deepest desires, his yearning for love and compassion. For so long he was an enigma, a melodic voice who evoked wonder and provided comfort for the orphan Christine. This phantom in front of her was a man who felt and dreamt like all.

"_Fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster- this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly yearns for beauty secretly, secretly..._"

Erik was a tormented man too afraid to be that which he longed to be. He placed himself into the dark chambers he was certain he belonged, condemned to a life of misery and hatred. He convinced himself no one could love a monster, and yet he could not suppress the noblest of human emotions. There remained one shard of hope left- he loved her, and although she may not love him back, he needed her to know the truth for that one chance she might return his love. Even a fallen angel could be loved, couldn't they?

Christine sobbed again, raising her chin higher and higher with three short intakes of breath and exhaled shallowly, lowering her head to escape his powerful gaze. She was emotionally drained, but she would not leave him in this dark moment. This angel, this man who had cared for her through her own somber times needed her. He needed her support, her hope. God knew she needed hope too.

As he stood there, towering above her, she could see beyond the stony, emotionless wall he put up- the façade. His eyes told a different story- and she felt somehow connected to his pain. Sure, life as a chorus girl could not parallel the kind of life she only dared to imagine her guardian living, but he connected her to her father, to her music. With him, she was comforted in her sorrow and cured of her loneliness. Her angel had been the one constant in her volatile life. _He_ gave her hope, _he_ inspired her to dream- and had he failed her?

The man was not the spirit of her father- he deceived her, betrayed her trust. She was not in love with this spirit whom she felt a child-like affection for- yet he professed his love for her. Her angel had taught her to sing, tutored her and prepared her for greatness on the stage. Last night was the fruition of that preparation, that dedication, that commitment. And yet where does genius meet madness, where does affection meet obsession? Could she trust this man?

But had he truly failed her? That was the question spinning in Christine's mind. So much of her innocent life revolved around him, in his existence- or rather her belief of his existence. Music was life, and life was music. It occupied her thoughts as she rose and as she rested. He had lit the spark that laid dormant since her father's passing. For years now, he and his music led her, directed her, and for some time it seemed the two had become one. But evidently, this was not so, and as he stood there, his warm hand still in hers, she could not bear to let either of them go.

With this resolution, Christine rose to her knees and fixed her eyes on Erik's once more. Bravely, Erik reached for Christine's other hand as a further encouragement. _Come Christine, don't make this harder than it needs to be. _

Christine softly placed her hand in his and gave a gentle smile. She was so beautiful, he thought. With her chestnut curls splayed messily over her shoulders and her puffy chocolate eyes staring into his, he never wanted to let his angel go. He wanted to soothe all her concerns and fears and bring her peace and happiness.

Erik pulled delicately at Christine's wrist to bring her to her feet but she refused to budge. _Insolent girl_, he thought, _I'm doing this for __**you**__. _

The most faint and pure of objections escaped her lips, "No."

'_No_'? _How could she say no?_

With the lightest of tugs Christine encouraged Erik to kneel before her. She had made her decision, she needed to learn more about this beautiful yet tragic man. She needed him and she wanted him. The bruised rings around his unmasked eye pulled at her heart. _What is to be done with you, my living angel?_

In a bold and swift move, Christine wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her head into the nape of his neck, inhaling his musky scent. _I will care for you, angel. I will repay you for the kindness you have shown me._

Erik froze in her lock, stunned. He had never been embraced before, his disfigured face ensured that.

_What does she mean by this? _

If a hug was freely given, there was still scarce hope to dream.


	2. Dropping the facade

**AUTHORS NOTE**

Here is the second instalment. Again, this is my first attempt at a creative Phantom piece, so please bear with me. I am very grateful for any feedback and advice you have to offer.

In regards to the characters and events, as much as it is lovely to be all-encompassing when discussing thoughts and feelings, if I were to touch upon the hundreds of issues that make up the complex characters that are Erik and Christine, we would never get to any action. So therefore, whilst this will not be a thoughtless piece, and I am aware that the 'real' Erik and Christine may not have made these conclusions or decisions in such a short period of time, for the story's sake, I'd like to believe the majority of decisions are understandable in the present circumstances.

Also, italics are character thoughts.

* * *

Giving her one last prompt to retreat above ground, Erik sighed, "Christine, by now they would have surely discovered your absence. You must return back to the light, where you belong."

But Christine was adamant that the man who hid behind his music must hide no longer, he must be given the chance to live a full life. A life of warmth and compassion, and yes, love if that came in time. His music was beautiful, his voice angelic, but his soul had become as black as coal. How was a child to make a man of himself when he was treated no better than a wild dog, the Devil's Child?

Erik knew Christine was the key to his happiness. When in her presence, he cast his own personal battles aside and concentrated on exuding beauty for her. It breathed goodness into his soul, offered him a chance at redemption. If only he could earn her love.

_I need your help, Angel, help me, _they both silently prayed.

"What is your name, Angel?" Christine continued to stare into his beautiful eyes. _Such sadness, such despair_.

"Erik," he breathed.

"I feel as though I should fear you, and yet I do not," Christine whispered. "E-erik," she added, feeling his name strange and foreign on her lips.

The moment was broken and Erik returned to his matter-of-fact manner of speaking. "Ah, but you should, Christine. I am no angel, and I was selfish to fool you and bring you down here after all these years. I let the façade go on for far too long."

"But that is what I needed, Angel." Christine, still on her knees edged a little closer to him.

"You never needed someone to fool you, lie to you; to make a mockery of your kind, gentle father. It was a crime against his good spirit, not fit for the likes of me."

"I needed my angel then, as I still do now," Christine reassured him. As much as what he said was partly true, she believed that in his heart, her welfare was his primary concern. Her Angel had proven that to her time and time again.

"You are to be the new prima donna, Christine. You will have all you dreamed of: a comfortable lifestyle, a successful, rewarding career that will surely take you abroad should you choose it. You will have your music, and you will have your beau."

Christine could not ignore the harsh way he referred to Raoul. Erik disentangled himself from Christine and rose to retreat to his organ, walking painstakingly rigid across the room.

"You must think little of me if you believe that, Monsieur," Christine said coldly.

"I think practically, Christine, and I fail to see how you could find any comfort in my presence any longer," he bit back. "I am not your father, nor your angel, I am a man. A disfigured monster who has killed."

He saw the shocked look on her face and continued, driven by his rising temper. "Yes, I have killed. A young and innocent woman like yourself should not be communicating with the likes of me. I cannot take back what I have done. I did it to survive. After years of living in the cold, Christine, you cannot get rid of the deathly chill. All that I apologise for is taking advantage of your innocence, that which I will not do any longer." His rambling came out in one rather large breath, and even his masterful lungs were pleading for air.

"And I don't want your pity," he spat.

His fiery eyes burned into hers. She felt ill at the sight of his disgust and feeling of utter self-loathing and hate. What was she to say in response? He brought her down here, he offered to take her back. She refused. And now she felt sick to the stomach by the way he spoke about himself. She could get used to his deformity, but not his foul temper. At this very moment the man seemed incapable of love. What a piece of work he was, she thought. And she really didn't know what to do next.

"I need some air, Erik, take me somewhere outdoors."


	3. Life's a prison

**Authors note:**

Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate them.

Also, I do not own any characters thus far. They belong to a combined effort of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

We ended with:_"I need some air, Erik, take me somewhere outdoors."_

And so we continue...

* * *

Erik's anger was far from dissipating and hearing Christine's command did not make it any easier to get a hold of his temper.

Through clenched teeth he said, "I have already offered to take you back to the dormitories, perhaps from there you could find your own way outside?"

"Your precious little Victome would be waiting on you hand and foot on your arrival no doubt?" He added.

Christine found her own temper rising. "He is not MY precious Victome. We were childhood friends, Erik."

"Sweethearts," Erik interjected.

"How can ten year olds be sweethearts Erik? They know nothing of love. I dare say you know nothing of love either."

Erik took the insult straight to heart. He was shocked by her sudden forwardness and assertiveness. _Was it my appearance or is it the diva coming out of her?_ He wondered.

"Well I must admit you are most probably right, Christine. How could a man with half a face who has been shunned from the world expect to experience such pure feelings? The world has shown no compassion to me Christine. Count your blessings."

"Don't tell me to count my blessings!" She shouted.

"Don't scream, you'll ruin your voice. A bounteous blessing I would say. No?"

"And what would you call your musical abilities? Curses?"

"Curses indeed. The worse thing you can do to a man, Christine, is give him talents he cannot use. It is the greatest slap in the face. It's like being born with a perfect voice and then gagged your whole life. What a waste."

"You haven't wasted your musicality Erik, you have produced some extraordinary work." Christine softened at the thought of the great many gifts Erik had been blessed with, and all the work he had produced in such a small space of time with herself as his muse.

"Which will never be heard."

"Says who?"

"Says the world, Christine. Who is going to listen to an anonymous composer, let alone a sickly masked genius?"

"Your work will stand for itself. And I thought that Phantom persona of yours was doing just fine getting what he wanted so far?"

"And we all know living our life by proxy is oh so fulfilling."

"Says the man who has willingly barred himself from the world and caged HIMSELF up like an animal." She was drawing closer now as she emphasised her words.

"That is because the world has MADE me an animal," Erik boomed. "Do NOT speak to me of cages, Christine, until you have truly lived in one."

"The opera's a prison."

"If this is a prison to you, Christine, count yourself lucky."

There was no warmth left in the man, and Christine now felt even more ill, compounded by her empty stomach. Her stomach grumbled, as if on cue, drawing attention away from their argument towards the even harder and plainer facts of life- hunger.

Hoping to have the last say, Christine concluded, "Life is what you make of it Erik, and you can have my help if you want it." With that she turned on her heels and made her way back to the bedroom.


	4. Nature calls

**Authors note**

I am glad to update quicker the third time round. Hopefully I can write at a steady pace for a while ahead.

Thank you again for your kind reviews.

_Disclaimer_: I still do not own anything, apart from a few small character manipulations- but who are the Phantom and Christine _really _anyway?

* * *

Some time later that morning when Erik had calmed himself and felt more hospitable, he knocked on Christine's door to announce his decision. "Join me for a meal before we venture outside, Christine," and after a beat, "please."

With a sigh of defeat, Erik returned to his organ to await her reply.

Inside her room, Christine's mind was running wild. Rampant even. If only she had some food in her stomach to lessen the fatigue. Their earlier conversation kept repeating itself over and over again in her mind. _If this is a prison to you, Christine, count yourself lucky... The world has shown no compassion to me Christine... The worse thing you can do to a man, Christine, is give him talents he cannot use._

_Christine, Christine, Christine._ She felt so nauseous! _What can I do? She asked herself. What is the solution? Is there a solution? Is it my job to find a solution? Am I the problem? _

She couldn't answer these questions, not now anyway. The world truly seemed to be revolving around her. Erik sure had a way of complicating things. It was so much easier when he remained an anonymous Angel.

Christine never had to deal with such an overly complicated situation. It wasn't simply a matter of yes or no, right or wrong. This new Erik was a powerful man, a skillful man, her friend. He scared her and yet she could not bring herself to sever all connection with him and take the easy path when things got tough.

_He cannot be left in the past, Christine, he needs your help. He wants your help, but do you want to help him?_ She continued asking herself questions, hoping a definite answer would pop into her head.

She tossed to her side in the bed. She could smell his manly scent even in there. Such a beautiful perfume and yet so...alluring. _Seductive even,_ she thought.

Christine abruptly sat herself up in the bed, chastising herself for her sudden impure thoughts. _How can I leap from scary to sexy in almost one brainwave?_ Christine was all nerves.

Finally, she triumphantly registered a more mundane and welcoming smell- fresh bread and... bacon!

Remembering Erik's invitation to join him for breakfast-or lunch- or anything that would break her fast- Christine leapt to her feat and sped out the door without further thought of her dilemma.

_It shall have to wait, nature calls_, Christine told herself as she again patted her grumbling stomach.

Erik had to admit he was surprised at the eagerness with which Christine plodded herself onto a seat at the kitchen table. Unabashed she looked up to him expectantly, both elbows on the table and her knuckles resting underneath her chin. He couldn't help but smile at her bold and natural moves.

_Natural is not a condition I am accustomed to_, Erik thought.

As he served up Christine a generous plate of bacon, eggs, fresh bread and various condiments, he prayed that _natural_ was something he could get used to. Something he was _allowed_ to get used to.


	5. Greatness at what price?

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

WOW, well things have certainly changed, a lot. Firstly, I did not update frequently as I had guessed, and secondly, now that I am on holidays, I have decided to re-write the entire thing! The first chapter has not changed too much, but the following ones have. I suggest you begin reading from the beginning if you want to understand where this current chapter came from. Of course the premise is exactly the same, I just feel as though I have given Erik and Christine a little more "balls" to use a vulgar term?

To all those who had read the story before I gave it a makeover, I am very interested to hear what you think of the changes. Hopefully they are to your liking. :)

Oh, and I have striven to make them longer too!

* * *

As Christine chowed down her food, she looked up to see Erik motionlessly staring into the distance.

"Aren't you eating?" She innocently inquired. It seemed logical enough to tuck in after what must have been a long and eventful night and morning.

"I'd rather not," he replied. "Eating with a mask on is uncomfortable at the best of times, not to mention messy."

"Well I hardly care for neatness, look at me!" Christine grinned as she lazily wiped away a layer of egg yolk that had found its way onto the corners of her mouth. Filling her stomach with hearty food agreed with her.

A slight grin crept onto Erik's face and Christine could see a small sparkle in his eyes due to his changed attitude. _He is much more agreeable when he isn't fuming_, Christine thought.

"Please, you must be hungry?" Christine pushed. Although another unmasking was not on the top of her wish list (his disfigured face was something she would most definitely need time to grow accustomed to), if her own hunger was anything to go by, eating would be an easy way to make Erik more manageable. Communication was critical to the development of their current strange and strained relationship.

"I satisfied my hunger earlier with a few slices of bread, I do not require anything more to eat. You enjoy it."

Christine wasn't going to refuse, for she was enjoying the food. _How did he learn to cook so well?_ Christine thought to herself.

"After years of needing to fend for yourself, you quickly grow tired of bread and cheese as an easy way out of cooking. Besides, the managers have rather expensive tastes…" Erik trailed off, he didn't think detailing the way he frequently intercepted Andre and Firmin's meals was the best way to impress Christine.

Christine laughed at both what she assumed he implied and the way Erik seemed to read her thoughts. Then again, she had never found a way to mask her thoughts and feelings like the other ballet rats.

Changing the topic, Christine couldn't help but pry, "Do you really think I will become the next diva?"

Erik raised an eyebrow, "You already are."

"I don't mean for one night, or one show, but for good? Am I to replace Carlotta?"

"I hardly think she will go down without a fight, but I am hoping I can knock some sense into the managers. You have received some rave reviews, Christine. They will flock to see you now _ma cherie_."

Christine almost blushed at the endearment. It was not uncommon for men to use the phrase when conversing with women, particularly the more educated, but to hear it on Erik's lips was a little more unsettling.

Erik placed three of the daily papers in front of her, demonstrating exactly what he meant by 'rave reviews'.

"_Mademoiselle Daae sung like an angel, her euphoric voice filling the mind and hearts of all audience members…" "charming and beautiful, Miss Daae radiated youthfulness and purity…" "she captivated the audience with her flawless voice, even the angels would have wept…"_, the papers read.

Christine felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. _What a triumph_, she thought, _what a dream_. "The angels would have wept," she repeated as she looked up to Erik. The look in his eyes communicated the same words on the page, admiration. _The sparkle is back and he isn't even grinning_, Christine thought with a smile.

"They loved you, Christine, the angels would have wept last night. You were a vision." His heart was pounding loudly, staring at her across the table, Christine was still a vision, always a vision. He could not imagine his life without her. It was like she was his heart that kept blood pumping though his veins. Around her, he strived to do good, she made him feel like a real man. Too much like a man sometimes… Being together in the flesh only tightened the bond he felt they shared. The darker thoughts came at night, but during times like this, he simply felt like a human being, full of life.

For moments they stared at one another, both captivated by the deep admiration they shared. "_The angels would have wept_", Christine kept on thinking. Her father, she remembered. _Father_. Christine broke the silence, yearning to hear Erik affirm what she deeply desired, "Do you think father heard me last night, Erik?"

"Yes, Christine, every note." True or not, Erik could not imagine anyone in the heavens not captivated by her voice and drawn to watch her performance. Her father would have been proud.

"Thank you, angel," Christine whispered, her voice full of emotions she had kept under wrap for so long.

"Your thanks is not in order, Christine, it is I who should be thanking you…" She waited for him to continue.

"You have filled my soul with gladness, with hope…" he bowed his head, feeling unworthy to meet her gaze at this moment, "with love. Before you, Christine, I was an empty vessel, a hateful man who despised the world. I thought my time had come, I thought there was no redemption for me and sooner than later I would meet the fiery depths from which I was spawned."

She could hear the emotion in his own voice, the pity and self-loathing, but also the sadness, the hopelessness.

"Then you came. You were dumped at this opera house, my playground, my prison. It became yours too. Then I heard your voice. It rose up, above your sobs and I heard the angels sing. You were so young, too young to feel the loneliness and despair I had endured, and I believed soon enough it would have come…"

He stood and walked over to the fireplace that was still blazing and emanating a fierce heat. A heat that rose in Erik's cheeks as he continued to dwell on their past.

"I had to help, I had to do something. I knew I could offer you little physical comfort. What would anyone think to see a gangly, 20 year old boy comforting a fragile girl half his age? No one knew I even existed then, other than Antoinette Giry."

He paused, and Christine continued to listen, transfixed by him.

"So I sang to you. I sang lullabies to soothe your tired spirit. You were confused, but you liked them. As I watched you sleep from afar, in the narrow maze that creeps behind the walls of this entire structure, I wanted to help you, comfort you, and console you in your sadness. I began to sing you to sleep every night and keep an eye out for you during the day, in case you came to any harm. You were so quiet and so meek, it was those rare moments you would sing in the chapel while you lit a candle for your father that I cherished most. It was almost euphoric. Even though your voice was nothing of the greatness it is now, the purity was unlike anything I had ever heard. You see, during my travels, beyond France and through the Middle East, I came to develop an ear for music. Music was my constant companion, we are the oldest of friends. I would sneak out where I could to listen to an opera, or stick my ear to the concert hall walls in dark alleys to hear the sweet melodies. In Persia, there was a time when I could enjoy music more freely, as I acquired more power…"

He trailed off again, and took a few moments to continue with the story he sought to tell.

"But that did not last, a masked freak was doomed to go nowhere in that world, in any world. So in the cellars I had my music, my sole companion. But with you, there was a chance to share it. You seemed to like the songs I sang and played, and I felt, even then, that we shared a unique connection. You see, music is so diverse that there are only some who truly share the same passion and taste for it. Nonetheless, I felt I could mould your tastes, mould your voice. And you let me become your teacher."

His fists grew whiter as he clenched them, recalling the next few actions which changed the path of both their lives.

"You accepted my tuition…believing I was the angel your father sent you... I wanted to help you, I needed you in my life so badly that I lied, Christine. I led you to believe I was indeed an angel, sent to guide you to accomplish your wildest dreams. But it was a lie, all horrid lies, told because of my selfishness…"

"As you grew older, you had your queries, and I resolved them by adding to the lies and escalating the tricks I used to deceive you. Ventriloquism was always a talent of mine but one I exploited to further my own plans. I had such big plans for you! By fifteen, I knew your voice had true potential, and I pushed you accordingly. To think of the days and nights I stopped you from going out with the ballet rats, or relaxing with Megan. But you were so faithful, and my love for you grew through your goodness… and my hate for myself also increased threefold."

Christine was unsure of whether she wanted Erik to continue. To hear the details about the façade he put up for her, to tutor her, it was so much to come to terms with. She truly had been naive. She pushed herself to continue listening. She herself was frozen in her chair, staring at her now white hands, just as Erik stood staring into the fire.

"You grew into a woman before my very eyes, and before I knew it, the love I had for you turned a different shade…but I will not dwell there…" Erik chastised himself for even allowing himself to voice such secret feelings.

"You were so close, at 19, to greatness. So much better than Carlotta, I had to give you a shot at Hannibal. There is much for you still to learn, my dear, but you were ready for the role, and we trained for it so well that it did just fall into your hands. Future operas will not be so easy, but with my guidance, we can achieve greatness!"

He turned to look at her, sitting frozen at the table, "And now look how far you have come, Christine. No longer frightened, no longer sad. We have been such friends, music and I, and I believe you too have entered into the circle of friendship. Music is in your blood, in your soul, and music will set you free. That is what you want, Christine? Please tell me that is what you want?"

He took a few steps closer and halted when he saw her hands shaking, she was so pale, her eyes were fixated on the table but had the glossy coat of tears which signaled she was doing a good job of keeping them back. He didn't know what to do. _Was she listening? Is she OK? Have I forever scarred her with my tale? Was it too much to hear? _

He took a few more steps further, hoping the noise of his movement would startle her out of her reverie. Ever so slowly, her watery eyes met his.

"At what price is such greatness to be achieved?" is all she could manage to spit out.

**

* * *

NOTE:**

I suppose you could say my Erik is younger than the book, but his background is not the same as the movie. Madame Giry did not bring him to the Opera House straight from the traveling fair. But that will be explained in more detail later…


	6. Comfort in the arms of an angel

"_At what price is such greatness to be achieved?" is all she could manage to spit out. _

There was a weak forcefulness to her words. "At what price?" Erik questioned.

"At what price am I to achieve greatness?" She was sobbing now, and her words broke as she sighed them out. He could not decide whether she was angry or upset with him. Both, he imagined. Erik took those final steps closer and was at her side now, unsure how to proceed. Christine slouched on the table and broke out into a more fervent sob.

Her cry was as heartbreaking to Erik as it was the first time he heard her those nine years ago. He had never had to physically comfort anyone before, he himself was never comforted. But he had to do something. He resorted to the only thing that had ever helped, he began to sing a sweet, melancholy lullaby; one of the first he ever sang to Christine.

Not even halfway through the first phrase, Christine dramatically cut him off, "Stop! I don't want to hear you sing!" She shouted through her tears and wept further into her hands.

"Well, what am I to do?" Erik questioned her, dumbfounded by her ardent response.

Lifting her eyes to the heavens, she suggested, "Some kind of comfort, Erik."

"Well, I thought singing..."

"No! Real comfort, Erik" She cut him off mid sentence.

He stood there, still dumbfounded. _Real comfort? How am I to know what that is?_

Not lifting a finger after a few more almost unbearable moments for both of them- one wanting to be comforted and the other not knowing how to- Christine flung her arms around Erik's form.

Burying her face into his trousers, she pulled on him like a child begging for her mother's attention. "I don't know what happiness is, Erik. I don't know what happiness is, I don't know what I want!" She rocked back and forth, partly in her chair and partly in his arms, and Erik was at a loss of what to do- still! He knelt down so that they could embrace more fully, as she had embraced him earlier that day.

She settled further into his arms, moving from the chair so that she was now fully in his embrace. He popped out his knee so that he could steady himself, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I don't know Erik. I don't know how to answer your questions. I don't know how I feel about what you have told me. I just don't know…" Her voice was muffled, Erik's coat insulated the sound from reaching his ears loud and clear, but he heard her every word.

Involuntarily, he began stroking the back of her head, his fingers finding themselves entwined in her thick and shiny curls. _A beautiful sensation_, he thought. _She is beauty_.

He lost himself in the action, falling into a calm, brushing movement, from tip to end, which effectively unknotted the few stray curls that got caught up in her sobbing on the table.

"Hush," he whispered. The closeness of his face to hers, and the deep, rich texture of his voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand; her own involuntary reaction she had never experienced before. _What a sensation_, she thought.

The comfort she felt in his arms was unparalleled since the death of her father. To feel that masculine strength, smell that manly, musky scent, and the warmth of his embrace- was all enough to lull her to sleep; feeling safe and calm. Christine was at ease after all the tumult of the past few days hurrying with final rehearsals, the performance, seeing Raoul again, getting lavished with praise for her performance, seeing Erik for the first time … so much had happened. So many things she wanted were coming into sight and were reachable.

It was one thing to have a dream, another to achieve it. She was, after all growing up; becoming a woman. With age came responsibility- and the ability to essentially get what she wanted; what she had tirelessly worked towards since a child.

_But at what price?_

It was too much effort for Christine to think so seriously, and so much easier to give in to the darkness and the warmth that surrounded her as she shut her eyes and relaxed, relaxed into the arms of Erik, her angel.

_My angel_, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.


	7. I could get used to this

Sorry for the delays; juggling university and singing, dancing and acting is fun but time consuming.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters... yet.

* * *

Erik was stunned, to say the least, that he now found Christine quite peacefully asleep in his arms on the stone cold floor in the kitchen. The sensation was amazing and overpowering. His angel in _his_ arms. Not his dreams but his real arms. Making himself properly know to Christine was showing to have many benefits...

There wasn't really any question of what he should do because as much as he'd like to sit on the floor holding Christine, both would end up cold and uncomfortable which would make for more irritated people; and irritation was not conducive to building a positive relationship with the angel in his arms.

Erik slowly and carefully stood, making as fluid and smooth movements as he could manage while transporting Christine back to her bed. Now wasn't the time to fuss over her day clothing, that would make for an uncomfortable conversation, but Erik did remove her shoes and tuck her underneath the covers.

Who knew how long she would sleep for, it was only mid afternoon, but her resting would give Erik valuable thinking time. Because, above all things, he needed some thinking time. Funnily enough, Erik had only really planned as far as presenting himself to Christine in flesh and blood- and not so much what he would do afterwards. Mainly this was because he could not for the life of him decide how she would react, and secondly because the thought of the many implications of being a 'living' human being and not a ghost were many and somewhat scary.

So far, things had worked out fairly well; considering Christine was still down in his lair and not hysterical. Her lack of knowing what she wanted was a little troubling but not wholly surprising. At least it gave them something to discuss.

Music!_ How could I forget my music?_ Erik thought suddenly as he found a short term solution to his dilemmas; he would simply compose while Christine slept. Playing music was the easiest and what Erik found to be the best way to pass time. He could engulf himself in melodies and harmonies, not real life problems.

Somehow Erik knew he would not be able to get out of this mess without Christine. Neither was going to come up with a perfect remedy to their peculiar situation on their own; they would have to work together for after all they were in this together.

Erik liked the sound of that. After never having a companion or someone to work with all his life-except for that annoying, arrogant Nadir (who of course was neither of those things)- Erik liked the thought of working in a partnership with Christine. He would probably be terrible at it; loneliness and selfishness are two things that go terrible together. But, Erik assured himself as he seated himself at the piano, it could be fun.

_I could always take up drawing_, he thought before he hammered out a melodious and only slightly discordant tune- softly of course- so as not to prematurely wake Christine, and ruin Erik's solo-'thinking' time.

Christine had made it clear she did not want to run away and cut all ties with Erik as if nothing had ever happened and as if they had no history together- no matter how mystical it seemed. Erik was not going to argue with that either. Although he knew he often got into depressed moods and felt the weight of his situation, when he brightened up a little the thought of letting Christine go when she was willing to stay seemed ludicrous. If she is happy to stay and work on whatever it is we have, so am I. _I will work very hard_, Erik thought.

_And why am I still thinking about Christine and not about my music?_ he questioned as he watched his fingers effortlessly gloss over the piano while his brain was miles away._ I am a talented chap who can do two things at once, but, this time I really want to stop thinking about the big picture and loose myself in my music..._

And he did, and Christine again had the pleasure of waking up to a beautiful, sweet melody floating through the air and wafting throughout the various rooms in the house- _cave_, Christine corrected herself.

_Yes, I am in a cave, below the ground._ Surreal? Yes. Surprising? No- well not for Erik. Unsettling? A little.

_Life was easier when I was just in the _corps de ballet, Christine thought.

She slowly approached Erik and carefully scooted next to him as he continued to play, lost in his music, without noticing Christine's presence.

Certainly not willing to take off his mask a second time, she indulged in sitting silently and listening to him play. She was happy to wait for Erik to bring up the mask, and remove it in his own time. In the meantime, she would try to understand the man better so that the next time she saw the deformity it would be easier to look past- _or look at_.

Remembering all too well the sensation of resting on Erik's shoulder and sharing his warmth, she did exactly that, hoping it wouldn't disturb his playing- too much.

_I could get used to this_, she thought as she shut her eyes. _So relaxing, so much at peace, so easy_.

The comfort was not long lasting. Erik, wholly unused to having a beautiful woman- or any living being for that matter- resting on his shoulder could not shrug off the shock and stopped playing so he could concentrate on the sensation.

"And so the diva wakes. How are you Christine?" he asked in a much softer and huskier voice than he consciously thought to use.

As he looked down to see Christine with her eyes shut and a look of peaceful contentment on his face, he couldn't help but shiver. _I could get used to this_, he thought.

* * *

**Note**: As you have noticed, I have lightened the mood. I don't want this to be an overly dramatic fic. Really, as much as the story is pretty unbelievable, we are dealing with 'real' people, and I like to think that both Erik and Christine know how to lighten up.

I'd also like to note that while I appreciate people 'favouriting' my story... I also like reviews. :) Especially if they contain your opinion of the story, the characters, and constructive criticism.


	8. Relaxation

**Author's note**: It seems I start every chapter apologising for taking so long to update. I think it will just need to be this way since there are so many elements of my life that come first that I rarely have time to just relax and write. That being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

"Hmmm… good. Relaxed, peaceful. Keep on playing," she said as she continued resting on his shoulder. She was still very sleepy and enjoying her current half-asleep, half-awake state.

"What am I going to do with you?" He chuckled as he continued to play; this time a lighter, slower melody.

She felt the vibrations of his voice through his body and smiled at the rich timbre and the beauty of the situation. She was beginning to understand how living underground could be so much more peaceful; you could create your own little world where you were safe and free to use your time as you please.

Once the song ended he moved as if to get up, forcing Christine to sit up on the bench. "How about we go outside like I promised? It'd be dusk right about now. It's usually a beautiful sunset on the rooftop near Apollo."

"Apollo?"

"The statue _Apollo, Poetry, and Music_, sculpted by Aimé Millet in the 1860s. Perfect combination," Erik said nonchalantly as he stood and closed the piano lid.

"Mmm, sounds like the perfect combination. I'd love to see it," she said brightly, sleepiness gone far from her mind at the thought on going on an excursion with Erik.

_It's so much more fun now that he's not an angel_, she thought.

He chuckled. "Well get your coat and we will see it this very instant mademoiselle," he said, raising his left eyebrow.

She smiled, feeling warm inside from Erik's rich, musical chuckle. "And then will you sing for me when we get back?"

He turned slightly and said over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow even higher, "Perhaps. If…" he trailed off.

She skipped after him. "If…?"

He thought for a moment. "If you promise to try your hardest in your lesson this afternoon. I don't want you to get distracted now that you can see me. I still expect your best efforts, Christine," he said a bit more sternly than he felt.

"Of course! Does that mean you'll sing to me every night?" She brightened, excited by the prospect. "We could sing duets! Oh, could you sing 'Garden's Charm' from _Hannibal_ with me? Your voice would be so perfect for it, so much better than Piangi. If only you could be the leading man, Erik."

Erik snorted. "Me? The leading man? More like the laughing stock," he said, clearly displeased with the notion.

Christine looked quizzically at him, apparently surprised by his harsh reaction and disgust of himself.

He pointed to his mask with a sarcastic smile.

"Oh," she said as she looked down to her feet, blushing slightly. "Well stranger things could have happened. Opera stars are known to be eccentrics. It could be part of your charm," she smiled, a hint of flirtation.

"If only this mask was a result of my personal flair, Christine. I'd rather be quite normal, believe me. And I'd go to great lengths to get that squealing pig and her overly confident beau to leave too."

Christine smirked at the seriousness with which Erik insulted Carlotta and Piangi.

"But, my dear, with you as their star we are half way there. Now we shall have to patiently wait for Carlotta to kick up a stink and take her injured pride with her to another opera house. No doubt Piangi will follow like the loyal dog he is."

"And who will replace Piangi?" Christine questioned.

"Ah, I don't know, my dear. There are some men with some potential but either their acting is wooden or their voices are weak."

Christine laughed. "And Piangi possessed those qualities?"

Erik smirked. "Not quite, but enough to fool most audiences. You, my dear are the real star. The true angel." His eyes shone with pride and penetrated Christine's gaze like a laser; warming her up but at the same time making her nervous, as if she had great expectations to met.

"I'd love nothing more than to make you proud," she shyly smiled.

"You already have, my dear."

His intense stare grew so much she felt she had to break the moment and get them both back on the task of getting up to the rooftop before they missed the sunset.

"Umm…Erik, so will you take me to the rooftop?"

"As my lady wishes," he said after a moment, picking up his and Christine's coat and putting it over her shoulders. He looped his arm around hers and they were off.

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**Note**: I did plan for them to get up to the rooftop by the end of this chapter but since I'd left it for so long I felt it was probably best just to get something up and then start working on the next chapter soon.


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